Problems Unshared
by cutie-pie-rockchic
Summary: When Sam and Dean keep secrets from each other, what will it take to get them to spill? Includes flashbacks of the Stanford fight. Set sometime after IMTOD and ELAC.
1. Dreams

** Problems Unshared **

**by cutie-pie-rockchic**

****

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Not mine. Just borrowed cough them from Kripke for now...

**Authors Note:** I've already written this, so it shoud be updates daily, maybe more, internet depending. Anyways hope you enjoy...

Sam walked along the corridor, the cup of coffee in his hand stinging his fingers. He knew what was coming next, it had played out this way for a long time now, and the familiar knot of fear twisted in his stomach. It reached up through his body making it hard to swallow, and the taste of bile crept into his mouth. His body on autopilot paid little attention to his brain, where his every instinct was screaming at him to run and never look back. And so he walked past the door again, his head doing a small double take, before his fingers went numb, and the coffee was sent crashing to the floor. Everything slowed down, as he ran to his fathers' lifeless and cold body, and eyes that usually held compassion or anger, bored into Sam's own, accusing him of everything he had done wrong.

_Too little…too late._

All the fights, all the hurt and angry words, and all the things left unsaid came back in a rush of images and sounds, and Sam's senses overloaded, an internal strand of his heart breaking, so slowly and painfully it was hard to breathe. He had to make it right. He needed to make up for what was lost between him and his father. He needed to erase his mistakes, and know that John was proud of him. He wanted to prove his worth. He just needed more time.

The scene before him changed in a flask of white, and this time he was standing next to a door, watching as Dean was defibrillated, as he slipped away. Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision, until the only thing he could concentrate on was the sound of his brother flat lining. Despair was filling him up inside, where he just wanted to hide and cry like he was five years old again, afraid and scared of the dark. He still was afraid of the dark. Dark included a life without Dean, and he knew he could not survive walking blind and alone in that territory. It wasn't even considered an option.

Then he heard the sweetest sound he thought he'd ever heard. His brother had come back, the beeps of the heart monitor echoing clearly in his head. His shoulders sagged as he felt the tension and despair leave him for a moment. His heart and mind reeled from the emotional onslaught, leaving him feeling drained, tired, and older than his 23 years of age.

Another flash of white transported him to a time and place that didn't exist. Where flames leapt up from all sides, burning his skin, but leaving no marks. He burned, only so he could heal enough to be burned again. The story of his life. Four figures came out of the flames, burning brightly, and arms outstretched. Jess, mom, dad and Dean surrounded him, they're bodies slowly deteriorating, and it was all Sam could do to stare wide-eyed.

"No…" He whispered hoarsely, but he didn't convince anyone. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not ever. He tried again to speak, but his voice cracked and ran away, deserting him.

In a sudden movement their smiles were replaced by snarls and before Sam had time to react, their arms grabbed him, and pulled him into their embrace, the fire scorching his skin, and setting his heart on fire. Pain encompassed every inch of his body as the fire peeled away his skin, and suffocated him, while voices all around him whispered it was his fault. Everything had always been his fault. In one desperate hope, he peered into the eyes of a man he knew so well. But the green eyes staring back had nothing but hate filled in them, and Sam lost hope and burnt…

Sitting up sharply in his bed, Sam Winchester panted and heaved in his sweat drenched tee. Running a shaky hand over his face, and then running it through his hair, he slowly got out of bed and padded across the motel room floor into the bathroom. He didn't turn the light on for a number of reasons. Reason number one being he didn't want to wake Dean up, and reason number two because he didn't want to see himself in the cracked and dusty mirror that hung on the wall. Too scared of what he might see staring back at him. So he settled for sitting down on the toilet lid, and holding his head in his hand as he tried to keep his dinner down and get his breathing and erratic feelings under control.

Three days now in a row. The same dream came again and again, and each time increasing in intensity. It was starting to take its toll on Sam, with the few hours of sleep he usually managed to get being cut drastically short, and the emotional strain draining his body of all energy. He knew he couldn't keep up this charade of 'being fine' up much longer, before Dean noticed something, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try. His brother had too much going on his mind that needed to be taken care of; he shouldn't have to sort out Sam's crap out as well. Sam refused to be a burden this time, and so he dealt silently, and was torn apart piece by piece, when all he was trying to do was keep himself together.

He sat like that for a long time. Calming his racing heart, clearing his mind, and replacing the barriers that broke down every night. Preparing himself should there be questions to be answered, and arguments to be resolved today. Eventually the sun appeared over the horizon, and Sam walked on unsteady legs back into his own bed and stared at the ceiling. He refused to think, because thinking hurt too much. After what seemed a lifetime, Dean started to move around in the bed next to him, slurring incoherent words out, still half asleep. Sam envied his brothers ability to switch off and let his brain shut down on demand. Sam needed to think, to sort things out the best he could before his eyelids closed and was welcomed into the warm embrace of sleep.

So he was screwed. It was impossible to sort things out in his head at the moment, with so many things demanding his attention and not knowing where to start. The scattered and jumbled thoughts crashing into each other like tidal waves. Plus the "warm" embrace of sleep was no longer warm, but cold and merciless, chucking him out into the rain to bleed dry.

More movement next door, and he decided now was the time to play asleep. Dean stood up blearily, glanced in Sam's direction before walking into the bathroom and starting the shower. He lay still and waited, and when the bathroom door opened and dean came out in a towel, his hair still damp, and a cloud of mist trailing out of the open bathroom door, he sighed, grunted something that sounded like good morning and had his shower.

xxxx


	2. Reality

**Disclaimer:** Nothing's changed. In reality anways.

**Authors Notes:** Thankyou KatieLB and here's the update : )

A half hour later found the brothers at 'Joe's Diner' Original thought Dean sarcastically. Finding a booth near the back, they sat down and picked up the menus. Across from him, Sam was rubbing his eyes distractedly and holding his head in his hands.

"Hey dude you okay man?"

Sam's head shot up immediately like a deer caught in headlights.

"Yeah I'm fine alright"

Dean shrugged. "Just sayin'. Don't want you falling asleep on my ass later." Sam gave a noncommittal wave and went back to the menu, his eyes considerably wider than before. "Just gimme some coffee Dean and I'll be fine."

The waitress sauntered over and they gave their orders, and Dean gave her a hundred watt smile, and a suggestive eyebrow. The waitress merely smiled back and walked off, swinging her hips seductively. Dean watched her leave and grinned mischievously at Sam, who sighed and avoided Dean's eyes. In turn, Dean's suspicion grew and his eyes narrowed at Sam, all traces of the grin gone, instead replaced by a worry that he didn't voice. Something was definitely off with Sam. He was moody yeah, but not normally this much…

Sam looked out the window. C'mon Dean let it drop. Don't ask me what's wrong. Avoiding Dean's eyes made it so much easier to lie and dodge questioning. He could read him like a book, and Sam knew his eyes gave him away most of the time. Well, not this time he vowed silently to himself. He almost sensed rather than heard Dean's next question. Damn…

"Listen, Sam.." Dean cleared his throat. "What-"

"Here ya go boys" The waitress placed the cups of coffee and breakfast on the table.

Sam sighed. Thank God for small miracles. "Thanks"

He turned to Dean, and started talking before he could get a word in edgeways. "So basically, all we need to do is burn the bones of…" He checked his notes. "Brian Edgecombe"

Dean looked over at Sam, buried deep in his papers and not touched his breakfast yet. He smiled to himself, and realised the distraction for what it was, and let Sam have this one. This time. But something was definitely up. And Dean was gonna find out what.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The rest of the day was spent looking through police files trying to find the resting place of one Mr. Brian Edgecombe. Not an easy task, as the man lived over 200 years ago. So it came down to the library. Dean groaned.

"Aww man. I could be having an amazing time with Annie-"

"Who's Annie?"

"The girl at the diner. Ya know long legs, cute smile, big-"

"Yeah I get the point Dean." Sam snapped.

"Alright Grandma, keep ya wig on! Just sayin' was all"

"yeah well don't 'say' anything and help me find a grave."

Dean looked across at Sam, hidden nose deep in dusty books and papers, his brow furrowed and his eyes in that serious look he gets when researching. He frowned, his earlier suspicions confirmed. Sam could handle Dean's jokes, just shrugged them off and smiled. But Sam wasn't saying anything, so he dismissed it for later, when the guy wasn't gonna snap his head off when he so much as even looked like he wasn't researching.

Left alone in his thoughts, Deans mind started to wander. Wandering thoughts were attracted to the things he bottled up inside. Like mom, the demon, and dad…His throat constricted and he could feel his eyes burning.

Don't be scared Dean…

How could you say that and leave someone on their own? Dean thought incredulously. If you loved someone you don't leave them. Except his dad did love him. He knew that with every fibre of his being now. His doubts he had before the crash were erased. John's final words proved that beyond measure.

I'm so proud of you….

It's almost as if he knew. His dad knew he was going to die, and told Dean in the last few minutes of his life, what Dean had wanted so desperately to hear his entire life. He should've known it was too good to be true. The Winchesters don't get that kind of emotional display without a catch.

Sam scoured every inch of the wrinkly paper with brown eyes that were becoming increasingly heavier with every minute that passed. He once found his eyes closing shut, but when glancing up to see if Dean had noticed, saw him seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Sighing, he returned his gaze to the book in front of him. Dean did that a lot these days. Got lost in his own thoughts. Sam's heart ached for the brother that was so sure of himself before the crash. He needed that sense of security. The brother who could handle anything. But he was painfully reminded that Dean couldn't handle anything the day in the cabin, the day in the hospital…Sam knew it was time to grow up. To support Dean now. Dean needed him more than ever, even if he wouldn't admit it. And Sam was more than willing to comply to his brother's every need, but he couldn't do that if he was falling asleep on the job. He'd get them both killed.

He downed the rest of his coffee, the scolding liquid burned his throat and kicked his senses back to life.

"Bingo" He said happily.

Dean looked up from his book. "You found it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Good, now let's pack up and get the hell outta here."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The watch on Dean's wrist said 1:00am. The cold wind bit into the brother's skin, goose pimples erupted on their skin, their breath coming out in white clouds.

The graveyard was big, no it was massive. Row upon row of graves and headstones stretched into the fog, and disappeared. Sam stumbled on a rock and almost hit the floor. He grunted and stood back up straight as quickly as he could, but it was too late. Dean had already noticed.

Dean snorted. "Dude be careful alright?"

Sam grumbled something and stalked off, but not before he saw the brief flicker of concern that flashed across Dean's face. Damn. The last thing he needed was for Dean to be suspicious. C'mon Sam get a grip. He shook his head and forced his eyes open further. Just a few more hours…

Fifteen minutes later and they found Brian Edgecombe's grave. Dean took the first shift of digging, and Sam couldn't be more grateful. The thought of doing anything more strenuous than keeping his eyes open was nauseating and terrifying at the moment. Dean was bound to find out for sure.

The spade gradually broke away the frosty soil, and broke down into the ground. Four feet down and a sweaty and exhausted Dean meant it was Sam's turn for digging while Dean kept a lookout. They silently switched places, as Sam handed over the torch and got given the spade from Dean. Not a fair trade in Sam's opinion, but one look at Dean's face and the way his breath was coming out in ragged puffs, changed his mind, and he wordlessly took off his jacket and began digging.

His mind was fuzzy and light-headed, and Sam felt his eyelids droop even more. His arms were lead, and it took all the effort his body could muster to keep the two actions happening at once, His vision swam, and world lurched sideways every time he brought the spade down. He didn't know how much longer-

Crunch.

Sam sighed and closed in eyes in thanks. The sweet sound of metal hitting wood. Dean jumped into the grave and helped Sam lift the lid of Brian's coffin.

"Sam go get me the lighter fluid would ya?"

Sam clambered out of the grave on unsteady legs and reached into the duffel bag. Grabbing the can, he started to make his way over to where Dean was, but something made him stop in his tracks. The hair on the back of his head rose up, and his "spidey senses" kicked in on full alert.

"Dean! Heads up!"

He tossed the can over to Dean, who popped his head up and caught it and proceeded to douse the Brian's bones in the liquid.

Hearing something move behind him, Sam spun around quickly. Too quickly it seems, as the world spun, and Sam no longer had enough energy to put up a fight, and fell to the floor, the blackness consuming him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dean heard something fall, and shook his head with a smile on his face. "Sam you clumsy oaf, when you gonna realise there is stuff on the ground you gotta walk over?"

Silence.

"Sam?" A hint of panic settled in.

"Sam answer me goddammit!"

Dean looked over the edge of the grave just in time to see the ghost of Brian Edgecombe hovering over his little brother.

"SAM!"


	3. Pain

**Disclaimer: **none of them are mine :(

**Authors notes:** Thankyou everyone for the reviews and the update is extremely late I know and I'm posting the entire story now.

**Previously on Supernatural:**

Dean looked over the edge of the grave just in time to see the ghost of Brian Edgecombe hovering over his little brother.

"SAM!"

Sammy.

It took Dean all but a few stunned seconds to collect himself, before his big brother instincts kicked in. No one and nothing hurt his brother. Especially this dead, evil son of a bitch.

With a cry of barely contained anger, he pushed himself quickly out of the grave and crossed the few short steps to the spirit of Brian. It was only when he got there he remembered that his shotgun was in the grave.

"oh crap"

Then he was soaring through the sky, to collide with the creepy assed looking tree he had seen earlier. A loud thump was heard upon impact, before an even louder crashing sound as he landed upon the twisted and gnarled roots. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, to block out the pain that was assaulting his back in waves, knives stabbing him in sporadic intervals. A dull throbbing in his temple demanding his attention, and upon lifting his hand to the back of his to inspect the damage, he felt the tennis ball sized lump that had decided to pop up for a visit.

Groaning as he picked himself up from the floor, his blurry vision came to rest upon where Sam was, and it seemed that Brian seemed to have disappeared. For now, he thought glumly. Once the world stopped disco dancing, he jogged over to his still unconscious brother, and quickly ran his hands over his body, checking for signs of injury. Apart from a sprained ankle, he seemed to be alright. Which is better than you're going to be in a minute, said the annoying voice in his head.

The spirit of Brian Edgecombe looked at him with dead eyes, his mouth twisted into an evil sneer. Dean had maybe seconds to react.

You look after Sammy okay…

Yeah dad you know I will….

Dean's eyes narrowed in on the spirit, with pure hatred and determination in them and for a moment a flicker of fear crossed its face, before it settled back into its mask of indifference. Dean smiled grimly, and that was his only warning before he dove sideways, his hands grabbing the matches and rolling over so he came to stand up facing the spirit of Brian.

What he saw made his heart jump to his throat. Brian stood there, holding an unconscious Sam in his arms, his intent clearly written across his face.

Put the matches down, or he gets it.

After a few seconds of deliberation, he slowly lowered himself to the floor, put the box of matches on the ground, and slowly raised himself up once again. The blurry vision had returned, with friends. Friends that made the lighter fluid smell make his head feel light and full of cotton wool. Then the ground came crashing up to meet him, one of his arms flinging upwards so his head came to rest upon it.

Brian Edgecombe watched warily for a few seconds, before slowly drifting over to where Dean lay unconscious, his possession held in a death grip in his arms. Looking down in his arms he saw the younger hunter's breath coming in short, gasps, his eyes rolling around his eyelids, sweat clinging onto his brow, creating small beads that rolled down his face. Clearly the boy was having some sort of nightmare.

He started to laugh manically, as his thoughts drifted over to torture and the fun he could have. However, his little display of madness was cut short as his throat let out an unearthly cry of rage and anguish, and he disappeared.

Dean pried open one eye to see the spirit looking down upon his brother in his arms. Seems like Casper the ghost went for his little charade of fainting. Damn he was good. From the little he could see from his position on the floor, Sam wasn't looking well at all. The sight if his little brother gave him a new determination that pumped through his veins, the adrenaline rush keeping every sense alert. His outstretched hand fumbled around blindly, until his fingers felt something cold and metallic brush his skin. Mouth twisting into a smile, he stretched his finger a little bit more, until he found a grip on his favourite shotgun.

Looking back to see if Brian was still occupied, he raised the shotgun and fired once at the spirit, who vanished with a cry.

He then watched as Sammy dropped to the ground with a snap, his ribs landing on a rock. Dean winced, but pushed all thoughts aside. The only way to make sure Sam was really safe, was to send that bastard spirit back to hell. Grunting in pain, he cautiously lifted himself up from for the floor, for not the first time that night, and grabbed the box of matches.

Walking as quickly as he could to the grave, he lit the match and dropped it into the coffin, watching as the bones lit up and caught alight, the smoke making his eyes water.

"Asta La Vista sonuva bitch."

A small groan brought his attention back to the present, and he looked across to see Sammy shifting around restlessly on the floor. Immediately panic settled in, and his heart pumped faster, his legs swiftly walking over beside Sam, where he knelt on the floor.

He took a moment to look at his brother. Actually look at him. And was shocked to see the deep black smudges that encircled his eyes, his cheeks pale and drawn. He affectionately brushed his fingers across Sam's cheek and swept the bangs out of his eyes.

Wordlessly, he carried Sam in a fireman's lift and carefully positioned him in the passenger seat of the Impala. A few minutes later, the gear was in the trunk of the Impala, and Dean was sitting in the drivers seat. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, and looked over at his brother, leaning against the passenger door. Now that the fight was over, the adrenaline was left his system, leaving him aching and sore.

"I think it's time you and I had a little talk"

With that, Dean sighed, and drove out of the cemetery, the Impalas headlights disappearing into the darkness.


	4. Suffering

Authors note: Next chapter

Disclaimer: still not mine. They would've hugged by now. At least 10 times.

Walking along the corridor, with the coffee stinging his fingers, he knew. It was happening all over again.

He was crying, the tears streaming down his face, leaving in their wake trails that burnt like acid, his whole body was shaking in denial. He couldn't. He wasn't in control. He couldn't stop this. He wanted to run and hide under the bed, but even that wasn't a sanctuary anymore. Not after he knew what lurked there in the darkness. It crawled out, its tendrils gliding across the floor, snaking itself around his body, until the light was all but extinguished, in tantalizingly close reach, but he could never reach far enough.

The dark was suffocating now, squeezing and tightening its grip, until his body went numb and burnt like fire at the same time. Burnt like Jessica. Burnt like mom. Burnt like the fires of hell where his father perishes in agony. Burnt like Deans eyes, when you saw one of the little lights in them that made them Dean's, flicker and die.

A sob escaped his lips, even though he had none.

Dean lifted his face off of the desk, a piece of paper sticking to his cheek which he had been laying on. He grunted, and slapped the offending piece of paper, which floated to the floor with such grace, that Dean couldn't help but find himself staring. It sliced through air like scissors, moving in the wind that was coming from the open motel window. It spun in a few slow, lazy circles, before lightly landing on the floor near Sam's boots.

It took him a few moments, but he managed to come out of reverie, albeit reluctantly, for the calm and piece of mind, and the act of just BEING, with nothing else to do was a rare experience, and every second should be savoured greedily. He closed his eyes and sighed wearily, resting his head in his hands.

Echoes of a lost time and place wandered into his conscious, and he found himself remembering an event which he had hoped to never remember again.

FLASHBACK

"Dean? You home?"

The motel door slammed behind an 18 year old Sam Winchester, as he dropped his bag by the door and looked around nervously.

"In the kitchen Sammy"

"It's Sam" he muttered to himself. Dean came out of the kitchen with a smirk on his face.

"Sorry didn't catch that. Did ya say something Sammy?" Sam just sighed and stalked off into the bedroom that he and Dean shared.

Dean walked back into the kitchen where his weapons were spread out across the table and sat down on one of the three chairs. He methodically and with practised ease began cleaning the guns, re-checking and reloading them with ammo. One never knew when you might need a gun in this life, and it was always better to be prepared than dead. Chapter three paragraphs four in 'John Winchester's guide to hunting.'

The low rumble of an all too familiar engine brought Dean out of his drifting state, and Sam out of the bedroom, his hair tousled and messy from when he had been getting changed.

Sam looked at Dean confused. "I thought he wasn't coming back until tomorrow?"

Dean was just as surprised as Sam was. Now that they were older, his dad was normally late back, choosing to stick around for a day after the hunt was finished. He knew that Dad never came home straight away because he was always messed up after a hunt, gashes in his legs, extensive bruising on his stomach, so he stayed and stitched everything up so that he and Sam wouldn't see. But Dean did see. He always saw, especially when it involved family. But Sam didn't see. Not because he was ignorant, no Sam was anything but. Sam never saw because Dean didn't want him to see. Not yet anyway. And Dean could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.

The engine died, and Dean quickly did a mental checklist. Sam alive and safe-he looked up-check. His eyes flittered over everything in the room, and his brain ran through everything John had told him to do while he was away. Check and check.

Feeling a little more relaxed, he braced himself for his fathers entrance. Even stitched up his dad could look a mess. Heavy footsteps could be heard walking up the steps leading to motel room. They stopped, and the world stopped with them, before the door creaked open, and from his position in the kitchen, Dean would see Sam tense up, and grim look on his face, his forehead scrunched up in a frown that seemed to want a permanent place there, with the amount of times he had seen it there in the last few months.

This couldn't be good. He placed his glock on the table and walked out into the hallway, keeping his gasps and screams under control and safely locked away in his heart, to be used later to take out his anger on an evil son of a bitch. While his entire being screamed at the sight, his mouth worked on auto-pilot.

"Sam go and get me a warm cloth"

Sam immediately turned and entered the bathroom. Dean took the opportunity and quickly whispered "Where?" to his dad. John let his head drop in resignation and said quietly "stomach"

He nodded and took his dad's duffel and put in his room. When he came back Sam was standing impatiently with a luke warm cloth in his hands, a worried look in his eyes, which he tried to disguise, but failed miserably. Upon seeing Dean, Sam hurried over and handed the cloth to him.

"Thanks Sam. Go and do your homework"

Sam's look of barely disguised worry turned into indignant anger in a nanosecond. "Dean I'm not-"

"Sam." Dean's eyes bore into Sam's. He was saying everything without saying a word. "Go. Now"

Sam looked as if he was going to say something, but then thought better of it, and dejectedly went into his bedroom without a backward glance.

Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face, and looked over to where John stood leaning against the kitchen doorframe. His eyes were barely open, one arm was wrapped around his stomach defensively, and the other was pinching the bridge of his nose. Bruises marred his skin, creating blue, black and purple patterns that made bile rise to Dean's throat. Striding over to his dad, he gently led him into his bedroom and laid him down on the bed, the gauze and alcohol already placed on the bedside table, ready and waiting. Best to be prepared right?

END OF FLASHBACK

Dean glanced up, his eyes making everything blurry from when he'd pressed them into his eyes. Sam had moved. Not moved as just moved his head a centimetre. He had literally moved. When he had laid Sam down on his bed last night (early this morning) he had been on his back. Now he was a mass of tangled limbs and bed sheets, with the main duvet having been mercilessly thrown on the floor in a heap.

But even as he looked now, Dean could see Sam was still moving, his eyes fluttering wildly under his eyelids, and sweat glistened everywhere on his body, his tee was no longer blue, but an almost black. Worried and slightly alarmed, Dean warily stood up and crossed the short space to his bed.

Now being closer, Dean could see that Sam was muttering under his breath.

"Please don't hurt me anymore. I promise I'll be good. Please don't leave me."

Dean's heart clenched painfully, and without thought, he sat down on the bed and leaned in closer, gently brushing the locks of hair that were plastered to his forehead out of the way.

"Shhhh. Sammy it's alright. Wake up."

But Sam refused, and his whimpers of protest only got louder, and as Dean watched, almost in slow motion a single tear escaped from his Sammy's eye, rolling down his cheek, and dripping onto the pillow, turning it a darker shade and spreading through the tatty cotton.

"Please dad. Don't hurt me anymore."

Dean's heart stopped.


	5. Flashbacks

Authors notes: Next chapter :)

Disclaimer: Hasn't changed in the last five minutes ya know.

Sam watched as his father raised his fist, to bring it down on his face once more. Blood gushed out of his nose, to pool around his face and stain his Tee, turning it a deep, dirty brown. He had not the energy to fight back, to keep going. He was drained, all the life he had left being slowly drawn out of him in an agonizingly slow pace, the very pores of his skin oozing out his hopes, his ambitions, his faith. The faith that he had forced himself to believe in. The faith that he would make it through this. The faith that Dean would eventually be okay. His faith that they could live to fight another day.

But more importantly, his memories were being stolen, as a child would steal a cookie. Memories that held a precious place in his heart. Memories that were being kidnapped, and abandoned, and left on the street for dead. Everything that made him Sam Winchester, the person who he was today, didn't exist.

As his father looked down on where he lay on the floor, he saw his son's soul ripped, shredded, mangled on the floor before him, the million tiny pieces so fragile. Sam's hazel orbs were lost in a never ending hole, which swallowed them whole, shrouding them in darkness. Leaving behind nothing but a scared child, pleading to be put back together again.

Sam struggled to keep his eyes open, but when he saw Dean by his fathers side, they snapped open with renewed vigour. He tried to cry out, to say anything, but he had forgotten that he had no mouth, so that no one could hear his cries.

Dean leaned down close, his breath ruffling his sweat drenched hair, and Sam allowed himself to let go. Frustrated tears welled up in his eyes, as he tried to speak to his only brother. To say something. To say anything. Dean's face hardened, and his fist slammed into Sam's stomach, but as he tried to curl in on himself to ease the pain, his upper body was ruthlessly grabbed and held back. His brother's face looked upon him with mock pity, before slapping him hard across the face. Venom dripped like saliva from Dean's mouth, as it opened and he whispered in his ear.

I'm going to go now Sammy.

Dean drew back as if burned, and stood up. Sending one last look at his brother, he turned to leave.

Sam broke into unabashed tears, and he brokenly whispered

"Please don't hurt me anymore. I promise I'll be good. Please don't leave me."

But Dean carried on walking away, and never looked back. He stared in disbelief. The tiny pieces on the floor blew away, and scattered to the vast deepness of loneliness. His confused mind only thought one thing. This was wrong. This entire situation was wrong. Even as Dean disappeared into the distance, his senses prickled.

He turned his head to face his father, and taking his chance with his newly acquired mouth, spoke to him in one last bid for survival, even as John took out a dagger from behind his back. Sam's brain froze ice cold with fear.

He managed to choke out "Please dad. Don't hurt me anymore."

John's face remained impassive and he tried to see something that conflicted with the events that had happened over the last uncountable hours. And he saw it. His father wasn't his father, for even as he watched, brown eyes turned yellow, and a maniacal grin spread across John Winchester's handsome features, like the one back at the cabin in Missouri.

Before he had time to react, his 'father' moved with startling speed, and brought the dagger down, striking down into his broken heart.

Dean realised he needed to breath. You couldn't live without breathing. You couldn't protect Sammy without breathing.

His eyes focused, and his head snapped back, taking huge gulps of air into his starving lungs. Once he'd established that he was actually breathing, his attention immediately back onto Sam. Leaning in close, Dean began shaking Sam's shoulder's gently, unnerved by Sam's sudden stillness.

Sam's eyes snapped open, and his sat bolt upright, chest heaving and eyes rolling around in his sockets uncontrollably. Dean fell off the bed, and his bruised back met the floor with a grunt. After the pain subsided a little, he was up and back on the bed again, grabbing Sam's shoulder's, and spouting out words before he even realised he had moved his lips. All his relief, anger and shock tumbling out of his mouth in one hurried sentence.

"Sam! You idiot! What do you think you're doing? Huh? Just what in the hell happened back there? You just collapsed! You stupid, stupid---argh! Why didn't you just tell me? Huh? Sam are you even listening to m…."

He trailed off, as he saw that Sam was in the same position, back rigid, heavy breathing, eyes boring resolutely into the wall opposite, as if he could drill a hoelr through it if he tried hard enough.

Uncertain now, he cautiously whispered "Sam?"

He moved in front of him, his face mere centimetres from Sam's, and whispered again. "Sammy?" His brother's face shifted, eyes loosing their glassy quality, and focusing on Dean's face. Sam's eyes held a wary suspicion, that belied by his hopeful words spoken with such controlled emotion. "Dean?"

It was almost as if Sam daren't allow himself to hope.

Relief broke through Dean's mask, and he shook his head with a grin on his face. "Yeah it's me buddy. The one and only."

The reaction he had been expecting from Sam was that of a shaky grin. But to his surprise, his little brother wrapped his arms and his brother and began sobbing into his shoulder. His broken whimpers were muffled by Dean's shirt, but still, they crashed down like a wave on Dean's heart and his arms went around Sammy, and he held him tight as the tremors increased, and before he knew it, his tears were streaming down his face and landing on Sam's shoulder.

The release was welcome, and even as the cracks in his heart tore a little more, he could feel himself healing a part of himself that he'd thought was unfixable.


	6. Shared

Authors note: Final chapter :( Thankyou to everyone who reviewed once again. Big hugs to you all.

Disclaimer: you get the point by now I think.

Awkward silences were not his thing. He needed to do something, anything. The sounds of the knives and forks hitting and scraping the plates, and the low rumble of the occasional car that passed by the motel room seemed too loud, but too distant at the same time. Paranoia was seeping in, and each one of the Winchesters took it in turn to look around the table, and check that they weren't chewing too loud.

The minutes passed by, and they still ate in absolute silence. For what it's worth Sam tried. He really did. But the tickly stupid cough just wouldn't give up, and it was either option number one: stop breathing, or option number two: cough and let the damn fries go everywhere and suffer humiliating ribbing from Dean for all eternity. Maybe a little exaggerated. But it wasn't too far off.

But the double takes from his dad and Dean upon seeing that Sam was going slowly from red to purple sealed it. He coughed, and all fries were let loose. In almost slow motion, a fry was aimed in a perfect arc for Dean's forehead, while another shot out to his right, directly towards his dad's plate, and the other one just flopped on the floor pathetically.

Back to fry number one. I'm sad to say Dean saw it too late. For all his hunting skills and bad ass weapons, it was this one fry that made it past his reflexes, and seemed to dodge all attempts to be wafted out of the way. It bounced off his forehead with a tiny 'dunk' and fell onto his lap. There was what could have been a comical silence, except for the fact Dean's face was screaming bloody murder, and neither John nor Sam wanted to unleash the terror that was Dean hit by a fry.

Sam glanced at his dad. His lips were white with barely contained laughter, and while his stoic features remained strong, his eyes and the way they crinkled at the corners said more than anything. He glanced back to Dean, and wasn't all that shocked to find Dean's green eyes squinted at him, his mouth a grim line.

"Sam…" It was a choked whisper, and he could feel a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, despite the anger radiating off his brother in waves. He looked down into his hands and tried to control it. He really did. But like the tickly cough it would just not obey his wishes, and when he looked up at his dad, to find John was looking at him with that twinkle in his eye and face twitching due to holding in the laughter, it came out in one burst.

"HA!" Stunned silence followed his sudden outburst, but it soon ended when John joined in with his heart laughter. Sam found himself unable to contain it, and if he was honest he didn't really want to. It had to have been several years since John had laughed that way, with such carefree that Sam didn't want it to end.

His eyes watered, his side had a stitch, his cheeks hurt, but every time he and John controlled it, one look at each other and they were goners again. Dean eventually got himself over the shame, and joined in. AT first it was a few little giggles, but the happiness was catching, and soon all three Winchesters were holding onto the table for dear life, stopping themselves falling off their chairs and onto the floor.

Five or ten minutes or so later, it was all out of their system, and the laughter subsided into little chuckles and finally into little sighs of remembrance. Wiping the tears out of their eyes, and recomposing themselves, the Winchesters sat back in their chairs, and relished in the comfortable silence that followed, with the occasional small grin tugging at their mouths.

Sam's eyes felt heavy, but he knew he had to do it now. He had to leave by tomorrow if he was going to get to Palo Alto in time, and he just couldn't leave without saying why. Despite all their differences, his family deserved an explanation. Suddenly the small kitchen became suffocating and oppressive, the shadows getting longer, the rattling of the trees against the window, the fly buzzing near the rot spot by the floor all becoming deafening, and confusing. Sweat began to his face turn damp and hot, his cheeks flushing and heart beating faster.

In his jacket pocket, was the letter that changed his life forever. It was an inside pocket, placed directly over his heart. It seemed to be squeezing his chest, making it basically impossible for him to breathe. Long deep breaths became shallow and fast, and his mind convulsed. He knew it wasn't real. The letter couldn't literally be squeezing his chest and trying to kill him, but it was all so real. It was all too real. His right hand slowly made its way to his pocket, and pulled the envelope out bit by bit. His arm was exhausted by the single movement, and it dropped to his lap. Everything seemed impossible. His arm became heavy, and his heart followed suit. He no longer had the strength to fight it. No longer had the strength to be scared of what he had coming. It was too late. He was going to have to deal with this whether he liked it or not, because there wasn't a chance in hell that he wasn't going to go to Stanford.

Looking up, he saw Dean cast a quizzical look his way, but Sam chose to ignore it. Tonight had made things so much more difficult. He could stand the awkward silences, the shouting, the swearing, and the anger. He could withstand anything but the hurt look on Dean's face. Yet he knew he still had to do it, or live forever in regret.

Finding some strength inside he met Dean's gaze once again, and lifted his arm. The letter fell on the table, and John opened his eyes instinctively when the atmosphere changed from comfortable, to just downright tense. Looking from Dean to Sam, from Sam to the letter, and from the letter to Dean, he turned his cautious hazel eyes onto Sam again.

"What's that Son?"

Sam swallowed to rid his throat of the lump in it and looked his father straight in the eye and said two words.

"Read it."

John spared a quick glance at Dean before reaching out and grabbing the letter. Sam noticed his fathers hands were shaking. Oh god. His father opened the envelope, and slowly opened out the letter inside. Sam closed his eyes in silent prayer. Please god, please god, please god, please-

"Sam what's the matter?" Sam opened his eyes. His big brother was frozen, his muscles tense, and every single cell in his body on alert. Sam just slowly shook his head, and looked down into his lap again. Ignoring everything. Ignoring the stinging behind his eyes, ignoring Dean's eyes so full of concern and worry that Sam's heart broke over what he was doing to him. Don't care Dean. Please just don't care. But he knew Dean would care. More than anyone else in the world Dean cared for Sam like a father, like a mother he never had. And this was how Sam repaid him?

His head had joined his heart and arms and turned against him, becoming heavy and impossible to move. His neck clicked at groaned, but he finally managed to get his head up and straight just in time to see John's head turn and face him. He swore he saw fire in his eyes, but it must've been a trick of the light, for in the next moment it was gone, leaving behind a stony stillness that was just unnatural. And for the first time in his entire life, Sam was truly afraid of his own father.

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The sniffles died, and sobbing stopped, but still the brothers clung onto each other, in a perfect picture of utter devotion. Feeling that little bit more brave and strong, Dean drew back, and while Sam was reluctant to let go of the one thing he had left, he drew back also. The two Winchesters sat on the bed, both looking downcast and distant, not quite yet believing what had just taken place. Things must've gotten bed if it had resulted in….what had just happened.

Sam cleared his throat uneasily and said roughly "Dean?"

Dean looked up. "Uhummmm"

Sam smiled awkwardly. "I ummm…I need to go."

To say Dean was confused was an understatement. He raised his brow and put his 'wtf?' expression on. Sam sighed and shook his head slightly.

"To the bathroom" Sam explained. Dean looked confused for a split second, then after digesting the words, a look of comprehension cleared his features. "Oooh. I gotcha."

A few seconds passed. "Dean?"

"Yeah? What?"

"Would you mind getting off the bed now?"

Dean's cheeks turned pink and he stood quickly, muttering under his breath and standing beside Sam so he could assist if necessary. Later on he'd say it was cramp in his foot. Sam unsteadily got up out of bed, and made his slow way over to the bathroom, and closed the door behind him. Dean noticed he didn't lock it.

He sighed and slumped on the bed, physically and emotionally drained from the ordeals of the past couple of days. Could they ever catch a break? You'd think after all the good they do in the world they would get some sort of reward. Maybe just once in a while, things could go right for them. But no. That was too much to ask for. That was way out of fucking line! The scandal! The horror! The-

A soft touch on his shoulder broke him out of his dark thoughts, and his head whipped around to see his kid brother sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, concern plastered in his face. The first free emotion that had been there for days. And while he was annoyed it was directed at him, he couldn't help but feel relieved. They were one step closer at least.

"Sam-" He started off, but was interrupted before he could get a chance to finish. "Dean…I…" Sam sighed, and looked him in the eye. "Dean I'm sorry." It was Dean's turn to sigh. "Yeah I know you are kid, and…and…I'm sorry too."

Sam's face took on an incredulous quality. "Dean what the hell do you have to be sorry for? For living?"

Dean sighed. Sam didn't know how right he was.

Previously on Supernatural:

Dean sighed. Sam didn't know how right he was.

Now:

Sam realised his mistake too late. Shit.

FLASHBACK

Without a word John rose from the table and walked into what could be called a living room. Sam was beyond confused. Absolutely dumb-stricken doesn't even cover it. Was that it? John Winchester doesn't have anything to say about this? He realised his mistake too late.

A grunt was all the warning they had before a thunderous crash came from the room next door. It was followed quickly by smashes, and stomps, and banging as the measly contents of the room were thrown violently into the walls, and it was worse than any verbal lashing he thought he'd receive. More frightening. Because all that anger, all that abuse, it was all directed at him. Every single ounce of pain he might've received from a beating was nothing compared to the tons of pain that flooded him with every beating of his heart.

The fact that there were no words to express how John felt, no words that could explain, no words that could reconcile, and no words to fix what was happening before his very eyes in the room next door was something so new and so dangerous, that Sam was even willing to run upstairs, pack his bags and leave.

Because what was happening in that room next door, was John Winchester loosing every strand of control he had over himself. The utter breakdown of a man so strong, and so tough, made him think he had no chance of surviving in this world.

The grunts, the cries of anger, the loud sounds were too loud, compared to silence that was that was there before. Already that seemed another world apart, a long forgotten memory dredged up from the past. He had done the worst thing he could possibly do. He betrayed his own family.

In a cinematic fashion, the tears gently rolled down his face, in total contrast to the storm raging inside his head. Except this was no movie. This was real life. Something he couldn't escape from and laugh about with Dean later.

Sam no longer felt like the man he thought he'd become, the man he'd been brought up to be, but a five year old filled with nightmares of the monster under the bed, seeking refuge in the one thing he could rely on. His family.

Suddenly, the crashing stopped. Before he realised it, Sam slowly stood up, his knees cracking and hesitantly started to make his way towards the lounge. Hovering outside the doorway for a few moments, he nervously glanced back towards his big brother. Sam caught the briefest sight of the hurt that poured out of Dean's eyes like a river, and the river crashed into him and swallowed him in one fluid motion. Eye's that usually held such confidence and cockiness had become eye's that hid a broken man, a man who no longer knew his own brother.

Dean turned away. But he knew it was too late. Sammy had seen it. Seen the utter wreck he'd become even at the prospect of loosing his little brother, had seen what he'd be like in a few years. Seen what he'd be like in a few days. Cold and alone.

He closed his eyes and found solace in denial. That this wasn't happening, that the logo on the letter wasn't for Stanford University, that his dad wasn't loosing himself, that he wasn't loosing himself, that the tears weren't gathering in his eyes, that his hands weren't shaking and his lip wasn't trembling, and that all the walls and protections he put in place weren't crumbling down to leave a lost little soldier, and a boy left out in the rain with nowhere to go.

Opening his eyes, he was brought back to the present, and immediately recognised the raised voices from the other room. Sniffing and brushing away the tears that weren't there, Dean listened intently to what was being said. Rather what was being shouted.

"DAD! Just listen to me! Please!" Sam was begging.

Oh I'm listening alright Sam. I'm getting the message loud and clear. And his dad was ignoring his brother's pleas. In a state of mind, where Dean wasn't really all there, he listened as his family was being ripped apart at the seams.

But dad-

Sam! You know what? I'm sick and tired of your moaning. That this life isn't good enough for you. Do you know what else? You wanna leave for that poncy, stuck-up, snobby school then FINE! GO! LEAVE!

Dad-

EVERYTHING I've ever done for you, what your BROTHER had sacrificed for you, what I'VE sacrificed for you all of it means NOTHING? You think this is some kinda game? That you can just swan off, no matter the consequences? Sam people out there need us to protect them , cause lets face it who else will? You're condemning them to death and YOU DON'T EVEN CARE!!!!

Please dad just let me –

I'm sick and tired of you excuses Sam! You either stay with me and your brother or you leave. But I swear to god Sam, if you leave, then don't EVER think that you're coming back! I mean it Sam. You walk out that door right now, don't EVER WALK BACK THROUGH IT AGAIN!

A choked sob. Then pounding as Sam ran through the motel, then the slamming of the bedroom door. And all was silent. And it was such a complete silence. Not birds, no annoying flies, and no cars. As if someone had pressed pause as they went to go get a cup of coffee. That this was someone's sick idea of a game. But as his father had put it, this was no fucking game, this was no fucking movie, and this wasn't even life. This was a Winchester's life.

John words reverberated in his head, if you leave don't ever think that you're coming back…never coming back…never coming back…leave…never come back… A strangled cry escaped his throat, but it was so small and feeble, that no one heard it.

Nobody heard the dead man,

But still he lay moaning.

Oh god Sammy. Pleasedon'tleavemepleasedon'tleavemeherealoneanddyingandlost. Pleasejuststaydon'tleavemepleasedon'tleavemepleasedon'tleavemepleasedon'tleaveme…

The mantra repeated over and over in his head, he forced himself to believe it. He believed that if he said it hard enough, and long enough that Sam would stay. His mouth formed the words but no sound came out. No sound would ever come out of his mouth for days, weeks. Only the slam of a door brought him back, and immediately he flinched and shrunk like wounded puppy. His head screaming that this couldn't be happening, not his Sammy, not ever. His Sammy would never leave him, had promised when he was 7 years old he would never leave him to face the monsters alone again. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes, and he brushed them away angrily. What was wrong with him? He was 22 for cripes sake! Anger was good. Anger got rid of pain, and fear, and loss, and made him focused.

But then Sam came out of the hallway, and Dean's gaze was locked on the duffel bag in his hands. He slowly looked Sam in the eye. And at that moment he understood. He couldn't keep Sam here; no matter how much he wanted too. It was cruel. Like keeping a wild animal locked in a cage. What was that saying? If you love someone, set them free.

So Dean sat there and watched. Watched as his life cried and whispered goodbye to him before walking out of a door. Never to return.

END OF FLASHBACK

"Dean you know I didn't mean that…it's just that- well, I- "

"Sam it's okay dude. I get it."

"Dean, I don't think you do."

"Sam-just don't okay?"

"No Dean it's not okay! Ever since the hospital-" Sam sighed. Dean turned dangerous green eyes on him, and he thought twice about bringing up this discussion again, but it had to be done. He had to do this for Dean's sake.

"Dean it wasn't your fault." His brother scoffed. "I mean it. Dad died and there's nothing we could've done to stop it." His voice cracked slightly. "Dean…I almost lost you that day, your heart stopped beating right in front of me." Tears pooled in his eyes at the memory, the memory that haunted his dreams. "I'm not sad that you're alive. I'm sorry Dean, but when it comes down to it, I can't be sorry that you lived that day. I just can't."

When he looked up Dean was staring at him, and he was no longer dangerous, but a boy that had been left in the rain, that had been given a blanket and a home to go to.

Dean stared at his brother as he spilled his heart out, and felt the sadness wash over him in waves. He knew that if he were in his brother's position he would feel exactly the same. Sam was precious. He didn't realise it, but he was. But for him to hear that he was precious, and that when he walked out of that hospital with Sam by his side meant something, made the cold in his heart break away a little, and maybe let room for light.

He needed to say something.

"Sam…you gotta tell me what you're dreams were about." Immediately Sam looked away, and became distant.

"It's nothing Dean. Just leave it alone."

Dean smirked. "Nuh uh." He soon turned serious again. "Sammy" he whispered. "Tell me what's going on."

-x-

Sam closed his eyes, as words came back to mind. Stop dumping it all on me….

-x-

Dean sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently. Sighing. Well, he supposed there was a lot to sigh about. "Sammy." Dean waited until Sam opened his eyes. "Sammy…look at me." His brother did as he was told, and looked Sam in the eye. He almost gasped as he saw the anguish and confusion that lay so openly for him to see. His tone unconsciously became softer. "Please."

Sam broke. He told Dean everything. All the nightmares, all the dreams, and all the words. Meanwhile his brother, and sat patiently through the sniffles, the pauses, the hesitance and the fear. Occasionally Dean's hand would slip onto Sam's arm, offering assurance and courage. As much for himself as well as Sam.

Dean was heart broken. How could he have not noticed? How could he have been so blind and ignorant to the one thing he cared for above everything else? His own life was not as important as Sam's. With his weakness, came a new strength. The strength to go on. He resolved to never let it get this bad ever again, never to this extreme. Where it was only when they were both hurting so bad that they had no choice but to scream. So the tears from his eyes were held back, his fists unclenched, and his mind became a bit more clearer.

You protect Sammy okay?

Yeah dad you know I will.

Eventually it was all out in the open, and the silence lingered for a moment as Sam gained his composure off the floor. He spoke again. "Dean…tell me you know it wasn't your fault that dad died."

Dean opened his mouth to speak but was cut off. "And Dean?" Sam turned to face him, and no longer was he the boy with the nightmares, but the man that would help his brother through this. "Don't you dare tell me what I wanna hear." And he said it with such force that Dean couldn't help but believe him, and sink into the promise.

"I-" His voice cracked, and he wrestled with himself for a moment longer, before giving in. "Sam I don't know. But I do know that the way I came back was…unnatural. I do know that I'm not supposed to be here, that my very existence is wrong. That I'm dirty, tainted. That I feel as though the world crashes down on me and sucks me dry when I think about myself." Dean's words caught up in his throat, and he put his head in his hands, and let a tear escape his walls.

Sam, just laid his hand on Dean's back, and moved it in smalls circles, like Dean did for him when he was little. He felt something change in him. It was screwed up for Dean to feel this way. And he vowed to make it better. And he no longer was the comforted, but the comforter.

Dean was allowed his moment of weakness, in solitude, but he knew he would never be alone, again. That he would never face the monsters alone again.

The brothers had each other, and who needed a reward when they had that?


End file.
